Stalking Kurosaki Ichigo
by Aranel Naur
Summary: Two girls nearly bump into a cute guy, and after figuring out it is Isaka Tatsuya, they venture a small stalking mission


**_Stalking Kurosaki Ichigo_**

**A/n:** The fanfic is based on the entries of my LJ friends which I found inspiring, so that's how the storyline developed  
Read and review  
**Warnings:** bad language (+ fangirling and squeals)  
**Summary:** two girls nearly bump into a cute guy, and after figuring out it is Isaka Tatsuya, they venture a small stalking mission

"Did you- Did you just see?" you exclaim in a half-squeal, attracting attention of your traveling companion, namely your friend, and supporting the scene with gestures, leaping forward and stopping her.  
The movement has its effect, at last.  
"What? Whom? A UFO? An alien? An anime character alive?" her exasperation has a grounding, but it's no time to go into details as you are almost shaking the girl, desperately trying to make her turn around to look at the cutie who you nearly bumped into.  
"Exactly! Damn, come on, quickly!" you're just about mad at such stubbornness. "He's leaving!"  
The other, lazily, grudgingly, swings, rolling her eyes at the same time, displaying no wish to see yet another object of your constant daydreams, which you tend to meet everywhere, because you do tend to see things, trying to pass the desirable for reality.  
"Holy crap!" she shuts her mouth with her palm, eyes like two saucers, a smug smile crawls upon your face. "It's that Ichigo guy!"  
And in this position of a pair of statues you've been standing for god-knows-how-long being in no compos mentis to be counting seconds. Only after reality somehow slaps you in the face, you shudder, no rational - or irrational - idea hurries to your heads, though.  
"It's him, I'm telling you, it's Tatsuya!" a fit of fangirling suddenly seizes you while the second girl attempts to clear out if it is that very Ichigo from Burimyu or a carbon copy of his, and of course the former version outweighs. However, the best way to make sure is check it out, and this is the onset of a small stalking mission you venture.

***  
"Ok-ok now, I feel like a bonehead following him like this."  
"Luckily, it's no sin, though I feel just the same. Damn! Kurosaki Ichigo!"  
"Yappee," you rummage for the cell phone in your messenger bag, cursing yourself for having stuffed it so deeply - of all days you've chosen this one to put it as securely as the bottom of the bag allowed.  
"Don't be a copycat, it's Tatsuya's word. Remember 'Genseishin Justirisers'? Say 'shimatta' for a change," the company reproaches while you start to fiddle with the phone, eager to take pictures of the unsuspecting subject.  
Neither of you knows at what point you'll have to quit spying, yet none of you is about to deep-six the hunt. What for? Why? It's a rhetorical question. Kind of small achievements, tiny miracles destiny grants to make you feel happier, complete. This is a striking example of such wonders, when you get the adrenaline going, like a challenge, a risky adventure. You have gone too far in your broodings, it seems.  
"Jeez, it's like 'Mission impossible'," your remark, said in whisper, lets her carry on,  
"Except we don't have no black glasses or earpiece or guns," a pause, during which you watch the person sink into the crowd. "It's priceless. See him like this, walking along the street and no fans attack. Know what I value him for? He a leading actor in the musical, and is so attractive, but look at him, he's so innocent and adoboral– "  
"Adorable," a correction. "You must be really turned on if you have problems with articulation."  
Sure enough, you agree with everything just said,  
"It's good to know he didn't get a swelled head even though so young. Goodness, let's stop, my mouth's watering as I imagine taking off his kimono– "  
"And his hakama."  
"Baaaka," you chuckle.  
Minutes pass. The further it continues the more you comprehend how wrong it is: wrong because you're chasing him and therefore intruding into Isaka-san's life (what if he decides to use men's room? Are you ready to accompany him there too?). Wrong because you've jumped at the idea all of a sudden without having considered possible consequences (what if he stops to lace up the sneaker and you run into him, what are you gonna say?). Hell, you don't even have a notion why you're doing this - that's why it is wrong! But then again, it's so much fun, to be doing it right now, off the cuff, without preparation, having broken the initial schedule. Life doesn't have to be measured, let's break routine every once in a while. Stalking your idol seasons it up, doesn't it? Stalking-wise, you don't actually get how come you're so into it at the moment, like a red rag to a bull. Poor Ichigo, he'd better not turn around, else he risks seeing obsessed - and possessed - fangirls who don't care about anything but watching a pair of baggy jeans on a good a–  
"Say it again," she breaks into the sweet fantasy of yours, sweet as well as pretty daring, by the way. "Did you just say 'good a-' "  
"Shh!" you cut her short, not letting finish the word, though you can't believe you just voiced your thoughts. "He might hear you."  
"Me? Don't be ridiculous. It's too noisy here to hear even if I whoop 'Buricchi saikou! Isaka Tatsuya aka Kurosaki Ichigo wa sugoi ne!' " which certainly sounds very loud, honest and emotional, yet too loud to-  
'Oh gosh. Crap, dammit, shit, fuuuuck,' you've run out of bad language by the time the guy in front of you slowed down his pace and half-turned. 'We're dead.'  
It is one of such crucial moments called 'all or nothing' when the wiser would opt for acting on their own. So, the ball is in your hands. A silly smile, which you try to fill with as much sincerity as possible, lingers on your face, and a small wave of the hand to mark that you've recognized and are now greeting the actor, who, in his turn, presents you with the best - and absolutely disarming - of his collection of smiles, making you want to melt, and soak the asphalt right now and then, or moan his name in a feeling you define as ecstasy, before in an instant you return to the earth, and watch him walk away as if nothing had happened, leaving you with your hand still raised. It's an indescribable satisfaction the incident has on you, but satisfaction nonetheless.  
"Rakki," the female voice squeaks. "I was taking a video of him all the while. Yatta!"  
Still, you're strangely silent, feels like a snowball that had been rolled uphill has fallen off the cliff at last, and nothing is there, no excitement nor expectation, for it is over, warm glow as the only reminiscence of the meeting. Along with a bunch of pictures. You have not found out the reason for stalking yet, though its meaning, its essence, is getting clearer after each new experience. It's not those things you've got used to receiving from a celebrity, not their photos, not their photographs - it's a simple genuine smile that means much more than any material stuff, a little bit of attention given to you as a sign of being noticed, a gift that serves as a torch to light up the road, that infuses with hope and desire to go ahead.  
"Tacchan..." ever-so softly you pronounce his name, seeing him off with your what-seems-like-watery eyes while the corners of your lips curve into a tenderest smile.


End file.
